


Years Later

by kromi



Series: Present Day AU [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, alcohol use, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kromi/pseuds/kromi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maverick doesn't know what to do with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, please, so that there will be no unfortunate surprises, this IS very dark at the beginning.

Maverick fumbles with his keys in the lock, so fucking sure it's in deep enough but the fucking door just won't budge. It's absolutely not helping that the stranger's hand has already managed to push past the pretty tight confines of his belt and jeans straight into his underwear and he's palming at Maverick's very limp dick with drunken enthusiasm and sloppiness with a hand that is almost uncomfortably cold and clammy from the chill outside. Maverick slams against the door futilely, letting out a colorful, slurred curse, and then makes sure that it _is_ actually his door and not the next-door neighbor's, because wouldn't that be a fucking scene, huh? Blackout drunk in the hallway with some beer-goggles-attractive goth guy with his clammy hand down Maverick's jeans.

He squints at the name in the door and yeah it's his, so the next logical fucking question is why the hell isn't the fucking door opening?! He starts looking for the key from his keychain: a key to Mama's, a key to his bike, a key to… what the hell ever it's bent out of shape anyway, a Hello Kitty keychain, a small flashlight, a bottle opener, and there's his key, definitely fucking his key. He shoves it in the lock, cursing again just for the fuck of it, and slams himself against the door, just for the fuck of it, and finally the fucking uncooperative piece of shit door opens. The goth stranger seems like he hasn't even noticed that it took Maverick what felt like years to open the door, but finally they're inside, and the goth stranger follows Maverick persistently, hand still down his jeans. Maverick feels like groaning, not from pleasure but from the dumbass futileness: who the hell could even get it hard under these circumstances? Points to the stranger for fucking trying, Maverick guesses, and slaps his palm against the wall, roughly estimating in the darkness where the light switch is. The lights turn on, making the hallway much too bright for Maverick's taste. Maverick starts stripping off his jacket, just to end up shoved face first against the wall there with his jacket half-way off and effectively tying his arms behind his back.

Well, _that_ , he gives it to the goth stranger, is almost hot. The stranger mouths against the tattoos on Maverick's neck, hand _still_ persistently down Maverick's pants and now there might finally be some other reaction than just 'ew cold' and Maverick bites down on his lip, stifling a tiny pleased noise.

"Where's the bedroom?" the stranger murmurs in his almost comically thick some-Canadian accent, "or do you wanna do it right here?"

"Fucking bedroom," Maverick slurs in reply. Even in his state he realizes that friction burns on his arms or face from the wall won't look or _feel_ good the next day.

The stranger lets Maverick push off the wall and Maverick prays the stranger will keep up the roughness in the bedroom too. That's exactly what he wants: the _only fucking thing_ he wants: just to be fucked so goddamn thoroughly he forgets his fucking name and everything ever associated to it. All the alcohol has done great job erasing most of that into a depressingly gray mass just generally labeled 'stupid shit' at the back of his head, but the most persistent stuff remains: the stuff that he _really_ wants to forget.

Why _is_ it so hard to forget? Maybe because it's constantly on his mind, haunting him like a persistent ghost of November-the-eighth present and Maverick's cursing Charles Dickens to the deepest of hells. It was what made him drink (not Charles Dickens, but the not-forgetting): it was what made him end up in the most god-forsaken, the least trendy gay fucking club downtown: the one reserved specifically for the extremely desperate and those already without any hope. That's where he met the goth stranger just around the time he started ordering cocktails, which usually signals the time he's drunk enough not to care about anything and sipping at a Cosmo-fucking-politan and desperately trying to tie the cherry stem into a knot with his tongue is far from being ironic no matter what he might be trying to convince to himself _or_ any possible bystanders.

The goth stranger introduced himself, of course, after ordering Maverick something not quite as embarrassing as a Cosmo, but Maverick first of all didn't care and second of all couldn't even hear through the booming gay disco blasting through the speakers on the dance floor. Maverick was feeling better about it without names, so he only said he was 'Sam' and pretty sure the goth stranger didn't catch that either and with mutual misunderstanding they continued the conversation that probably went completely unheard by both of them. They just nodded, one said something, nodded some more, ordered more drinks (the stranger was paying), and the only thing Maverick eventually heard was "wanna fuck?" which was only mere seconds before he was about to ditch the guy for clearly not being willing to deliver.

"Fuck yeah," Maverick replied with a drunken, crooked grin and out of the club they went. Out on the street, between drunken people trying to figure out who was going to pay for cab and vomiting into the gutter and trying to find their brand new iPhone and screaming about Neil being the biggest fucking bitch of them all, Maverick managed to ask "your place or mine?", taking the first good (beer-goggled-y) look at the stranger and finding him passable enough (also almost a head taller and twice as thick -- not chubby, but muscular -- which was definitely a good sign), and he heard the ridiculous accent well for the first time: "I don't have a place, so yours?"

Maverick just shrugged and hailed a cab, which the stranger graciously paid for.

Then there was the fight with the door.

Maverick heads to the bedroom, which isn't far (nothing's really far in his tiny apartment: bedroom to the right and kitchen to the left), and sheds his jacket on the way, then his shirt, kicks off his shoes and opens his belt (really, was the stranger too fucking drunk to get it open?), pushing his jeans down just enough to show a strip of underwear and the trail of red hair disappearing beneath it. He turns on a lamp on the bedside table.

The stranger follows him, stops in the doorway and looks around, finally looking at Maverick. He really isn't half-bad with beer goggles on, Maverick thinks hazily: just your basic goth guy with long black hair, thick eyeliner, surprisingly well-trimmed beard that hides half of his face and all dressed in black with a leather jacket, a T-shirt of a band Maverick has never heard of and massive combat boots with zippers and belts and rivets and shit.

"I like your tats," the stranger says in his pleasantly low voice, all fucking ruined by the ridiculous accent (sorry to all Canadians everywhere, Maverick thinks, but some of your accents are _ridiculous_ ) and Maverick just shrugs a thank-you, pretty sure he's going to find the stranger's tattoos of the very basic tribal variety chosen from some tattoo artist's example folder with maybe some skull-themed half-sleeve or something just as equally tediously generic and 'badass'.

The stranger strips in the doorway all the way (tribals on biceps what a fucking surprise) and at least his cock is big and already half-hard, which Maverick finds slightly odd, but he doesn't really complain. It'll make it go faster; definitely not less painless, but faster. The stranger steps to Maverick, leans down as if to kiss and Maverick quickly dodges to the side because hell no he ain't doing that shit, and the stranger takes the hint with a dismissive grunt and instead just lifts Maverick up like he doesn't weigh anything and tosses him onto the bed. Maverick yelps in surprise and the stranger is surprisingly quickly on top of him, pulling down his jeans and underwear and mouthing very wet kisses on the insides of Maverick's thighs. Maverick doesn't really like the wetness, it feels almost disgusting, but he fakes a tiny sound of pleasure either way.

"How do you wanna do this?" the stranger asks, surprisingly enough, and Maverick sees him tug at his dick, making it fully hard.

"I don't care," Maverick replies and to be honest if he wasn't as drunk as he was, that should've made him a little bit concerned, "just fuck me hard. Hard as you fucking can."

There are no words spoken after that. Maverick grabs the small tube of lube from the nightstand and tosses it at the stranger and the stranger just turns Maverick over with self-assured certainty. He lifts Maverick's ass up off the mattress and for a very brief second runs his hand along the curve of it. It feels almost intimate and that's exactly what Maverick _doesn't_ want, so he just shakes his ass almost angrily and barks against the pillow: "Just fucking leave the admiring and stick it in."

"You have a nice ass," the stranger says, as if he thinks that he's expected to offer compliments, but _fucking NO_ , _stop that_ , Maverick wants to scream.

"So do you want to fuck it or not?!" Maverick groans out angrily, glaring at the stranger over his shoulder, strangely hurt, and he doesn't even care if he makes the guy angry. Good, if he does. Maybe he'll hurt Maverick then.

The stranger furrows his brow, tears open a condom and rolls it on, then takes the lube and slathers it over his dick before just lifting Maverick's ass off the mattress again. Without much ceremony he shoves his dick in.

Maverick lets out a cry against the pillow, his hands fisting in the sheets and holy shit it hurts, it's been such a long while he's not used to doing it completely unprepared. He thinks hazily that the friction can't feel too good for the stranger either, but he doesn't seem to care, and goes at it immediately like it's nothing. Maverick takes the force of the blow, and the next, and the stranger fucks him into the mattress, every thrust hard and deep.

"Yeah, you like that," the stranger mutters, almost like half to himself. "You like that, you dirty fucking slut, don't you?"

"Yeah," Maverick replies because it feels like the right thing to do (Maverick _likes_ dirty talk but not like that, he likes it whispered low and raw and secret and to his ears only), and that makes the stranger drive into him harder, grunting from exertion.

The stranger's really not that bad, Maverick thinks, as if trying to excuse his undeniably damaging behavior: it could be a good fuck if there was mutual attraction, but since there's nothing like that… well. Maverick just doesn't care, but at least he's getting fucked. The stranger has no fucking tact, he doesn't give a fuck about Maverick's comfort and he's fucking nothing compared to Benny who always made sure Maverick was alright and feeling good, even when he was really rough and dominant, and there's _nothing_ to compare except the stranger has a bigger cock, and. God, heavens no, Maverick did not need to go there, not think about that at all, and now the tears of pain are not just that.

The stranger changes the position, turns Maverick to his side and lifts Maverick's leg against his somewhat hairy chest and continues fucking him sideways and Maverick just hides his face under his arm because fucking _shit_ if the stranger sees him crying. It doesn't even feel good at that point: it chafes and the stranger doesn't even seem to notice Maverick's erection is long gone and no, it doesn't feel right at all. He wanted to do this to forget and instead he's just remembering everything and he sobs silently in the protection of his arm.

The stranger tries to turn him again, to face him this time, but Maverick barks out an angry _NO_ and turns back to his stomach. The stranger doesn't mind and thankfully finishes quickly after that, thrusting a few deep ones into Maverick before coming with a grunt that sounds absolutely disgusting to Maverick's ears.

The stranger flops down onto the bed next to Maverick and lies there for a moment, evening out his breath while Maverick lies with his back to the stranger, staring blindly towards the cornflower blue curtains covering his balcony window.

"So uh, I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name earlier," the stranger says then, turning to Maverick and tracing his fingers along his ribs.

"Sam," Maverick replies quickly and scrambles out of the bed, knocking down the lamp from his nightstand as he reaches out for his emergency stash of cigarettes. The lamp crashes to the floor and the bulb shatters, shrouding the room in darkness with the only light coming from the hallway and the dim streetlights through the balcony curtain. "Man, I'm sorry, but I need a smoke and I'd really like it if you were gone before I'm back."

He feels the stranger's eyes on his back as he heads for the balcony door and then hears him get up from the bed.

"Well at least you weren't a completely crummy lay," the stranger rumbles, sounding a bit offended, and whatever he says next Maverick doesn't hear because he's out on the balcony and lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers.

Fucking.

Shit.

Whenever did he ever think this was a good idea? Probably around the Cosmopolitan. From vodka, lime and cranberry juice are stillborn ideas come from.

He smokes the cigarette, then peeks carefully inside his bedroom and at least finds the stranger and his clothes gone, and then closes the door again and lights another one. Nicotine soothes his anxiety just a tiny bit, but the chill isn't doing much good and he's positively trembling, teeth chattering and all, when he finally goes back inside. He checks his apartment, walking on unsteady legs because his ass sort of really hurts, and blissfully finds the apartment empty. Nothing's even gone, at least nothing he can remember in his state as being important (mostly just his wallet, phone, laptop and Xbox) and fucking hell there's a fucking hundred dollar bill on the bedside table where the lamp used to be.

He just looks at the money and bursts into angry tears. The fucking guy thought he's a hustler. A fucking whore, for fuck's sake. The lamp isn't worth even a twenty so it can't be that, it has to be for the _service_ . The tears turn into tears of everything else too and he sinks against the edge of the bed and just full-out cries like a baby into his crossed arms because what the fuck is he even doing. Like any of this is ever going to erase anything; make him forget the things he cherishes the most and _hates_ for still cherishing so fucking much.

And yeah thank fuck he's so fucking drunk he basically has no self respect _or_ restraint left anymore and he finds his jacket between the hallway and his bedroom and gets out his phone and really, what's the fucking point of deleting numbers from your address book if you remember them by heart anyway.

The dialing tone is like neverending and Maverick counts the tones: one, two, three… on the sixth there's vague clatter and the sound of someone picking up and a tired, annoyed voice, "Yes?!" and fucking shit he picked up. He actually picked up. Just his voice makes Maverick burst into tears again.

"Benny," the name just tumbles out of his mouth between sobs and he doesn't know what the hell else to say. Is there anything else to say, even: there should be nothing and although there are about a million things he _wants_ to say, none of those are appropriate. Even in his state of inebriation he realizes that, and he realizes that what he is doing is selfish, nostalgic and just plain pants-on-head stupid.

"Is everything alright?" is the instant question from the other end, the tiredness gone although the annoyance is still there. But isn't it always?

Maverick is quiet for a long time because he had no reason to call, absolutely _no reason at all_ and it's unfair and he's drunk.

Maverick's quiet so long Benny apparently starts to wonder if he is still on the line. "Maverick?" he asks, half-tentative, half-worried and Maverick bursts into pathetic tears again because fuck everything he has missed hearing his stupid name from that stupid man and why does it have to be like this, why?

"You don't sound alright, I'm coming over," Benny says resolutely into the phone.

"Nooo," Maverick whines, because that is most certainly the worst idea of a grand fucking degree, "I'm drunk and, and stupid and emotional and it-it's nothing."

"Even more reason for me to get there, you're so fucking stupid," Benny says (Maverick's unsure what the anger is aimed at) and hangs up.

Maverick listens to the busy tone for a long time, feeling numb, still sitting on the floor with his back against the side of his bed and the whole room smells disgustingly of sex and sweat and whatever awful cologne the goth stranger was using. He looks at the hundred bucks on the nightstand and really doesn't know what the hell to do with it. He wants to burn it or flush it down the toilet or whatever you do with money you don't want, but then again a hundred bucks is kind of a lot of money.

It takes maybe ten minutes, tops, for there to be a very loud and demanding knock on his door and Maverick walks limply to the hallway, his heart in his throat and one hundred percent unsure of what to do next. Benny's on the other side of the fucking door. He faintly realizes he's still buck naked with the stranger's sweat all over him and if he was any less drunk he would probably be beyond disgusted. He stumbles back into the bedroom to put on his jeans and a shirt in case he goes finally mad and actually opens the door.

"Mav, open up!" Benny shouts through the door.

Maverick doesn't reply. Maybe Benny will leave if Maverick stays quiet. He never said where he was, Benny has no idea he's even home. But may whatever shitty god have mercy on his soul he wants to see Benny so bad it physically hurts: his stomach roils and it feels like there's someone's fist around his heart and it's squeezing really fucking hard. As if he didn't call Benny because he misses him like crazy, as if this whole thing isn't because he's still so stupidly in love with him.

He lurks in the bedroom doorway, leaning to the doorframe and staring at the front door intensely, absolutely fucking torn.

And then there's the telltale clinking of keys and a click and a clack and the door opens and Benny steps in with a key in hand, with a matching fucking Hello Kitty keychain Maverick has and, oh yeah, Maverick never did ask Benny to return the key.

Benny's wearing his very stylish woolen coat (that fits his new executive look to the dot) over his fucking _pajamas_ and his hair's an adorable bedhead mess and he's raising his eyebrows at Maverick, his look between something like 'I want to kill you' and 'what the fuck is going on', and Maverick just folds in the doorway, buries his face in his hands and bursts into pathetic tears. Again. How fucking manly. He hears the door slam shut and quick footsteps across the hallway and then Benny's kneeling next to him. Benny's clearly unsure of the etiquette of 'ex-boyfriends in a situation like this' and seems to just fret a moment in place before placing an awkward hand on Maverick's shoulder.

"Seriously what the fuck's wrong with you?" Benny asks, but this time he doesn't sound angry although the familiar note is there.

"I fucking dunno," Maverick sobs, still hiding his face. What can he even say? That he misses Benny like crazy and keeps doing stupid shit because he can't forget that basically the only fucking happiness he ever knew is now kneeling half a foot away from him and he doesn't even know what to do to make it alright again, or if there even _is_ anything he can do to make it alright again. It's all just a fucking mess and he keeps making it worse.

Benny looks seriously concerned now. "Are you sick? Hurt? Should I call someone or some…thing? Talk to me, idiot."

"No, I'm just fucking wasted," Maverick slurs and fights the urge to dive against Benny and drown in his arms. The woolen coat looks so soft and Benny always smells nice and familiar, Maverick bets he smells nice now. Maybe he still smells like warmth and sleep and clean sheets despite the cab ride and the chill outside.

"You didn't take any drugs, did you?" Benny asks strictly, to which Maverick replies with as offended headshake as he possibly can. No matter how low he's going to sink, he will never sink _that_ low, and it hurts that Benny would even think about Maverick doing that. He should know better.

Benny takes a look at the bedroom over Maverick's shoulder and sees the crashed bedside lamp and the tangled sheets and it's like a dark cloud descends upon his features then.

"What happened here?"

Maverick laughs weakly and wipes at his eyes. Man, his face must be bright red from all the crying. "I went to a club, met this guy, I dunno, he came over and fucked me. It sucked, he left. He thought I was a whore, left me a fucking hundred bucks. I'm just a fucking mess."

Benny stares at Maverick with a bit of an unbelieving look, one eyebrow slightly raised. Maverick swears he's going to sock Benny in the face (or at least fucking _try to_ with his drunk-impaired aim) if he's going to judge.

"I didn't know you picked up guys in clubs," Benny says slowly, of course characteristically latching on to the least important part of Maverick's explanation.

"I don't," Maverick says and his face twists into a grimace as he tries to swallow the words that are persistently trying to crawl up his throat.

"So why?"

"To forget, you fucking ass," Maverick says and tries to poke Benny in the shoulder. He misses by a mile and almost dives into Benny's arms, but gathers the remains of his balance at the last second. "To forget _you_ , you fucking dickweed. Why the fuck else would I drunk dial you in the middle of the fucking night like some teenage girl in some fucking dumbass TV drama? I know it's been like months or whatever, but I just _can't_." He manages that far before bursting into tears and slumping against the doorframe again. "I'm still stupidly in love with you, you dumbass idiot whatever the fuck you even are, asshole," he slurs almost angrily between the sobs.

Benny looks at Maverick and his face is thankfully very well-guarded, because pity would be another thing that would make Maverick try very hard to make his fist squarely meet Benny's stupid face.

"You make everything so complicated," Benny finally groans, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Yeah, that's me, the pathetic ex who can't let go," Maverick mutters.

Benny peers over Maverick's shoulder into the bedroom again and looks back at him with a very, _very_ serious look on his face. "He didn't hurt you or... rape you or anything, did he?" he asks quietly, his eyes as hard as steel.

"No," Maverick replies. "I wasn't into it but I wanted it, so," he admits. He's just gonna be happy if he'll never see the guy again, which is likely considering the accent and the fact that he didn't have a place to stay. "Shittiest fuck of my life. Didn't even help I was thinking about you half the time."

That makes the painfully familiar flush blossom on Benny's cheeks and he looks away, adorably flustered. It makes Maverick hurt twice as much, like a fucking burning stake right through his heart or something absolute bullshit. God he misses Benny: he wants to hold him and kiss him and _be his_ again and Benny's _so close_ Maverick could _do_ all of that. Except actually be Benny's.

"Anyway I'm okay and it was fucking dumb to call you, so you can go now. Sorry you had to come," Maverick says, hurrying to make everything sound alright, and he wipes at his eyes, sniffling. "And just like fucking block me on caller ID or something."

Benny doesn't make a move to stand up and leave.

"I wouldn't have come if I didn't care," he says after a while.

"Yeah man but there's like a Grand fucking Canyon between caring about some stupid shit your old friend does and being still in love with him," Maverick slurs and stands up on shaky feet. Man he is never gonna let anyone with a dick that size go in dry ever again. "Like, fucking go already."

Benny stands up as well, stands really close to Maverick, hovering there two inches taller as always. "It's not easy for me either," Benny says a bit awkwardly, like trying to find the right words. Benjamin Yeong, never the master of words. He puts his hand on Maverick's shoulder first, looking contemplative, and then wraps the other really carefully around Maverick's waist and pulls him into a hug that makes Maverick's heart burst into flames.

"Fucking stop, that ain't fair," Maverick says weakly, just sort of leaning passively into Benny without any attempt to hug him back.

"What if I stayed the night," Benny says quietly, close to Maverick's ear. "Just sleep. And we talk in the morning when you're sober?"

"You don't have to," Maverick says, now sobbing again because there's really nothing to talk about except _them_ and the implications of that are either heartbreaking or too good to be true. "Don't fucking let me entertain any dumbass false hopes here, my heart's in millions of fucking pieces already and I think you're fucking responsible for picking up at least half of 'em."

"I miss you too," Benny says and for about the thousandth time in the span of one stupid-ass night Maverick bursts into tears _again_ , and finally hugs Benny back, hands fisted in the back of his soft woolen coat and of course he smells nice and familiar, a bit like home. Benny pets Maverick's hair and is there for him, which is everything Maverick really needs.

 

 

They stand like that in the bedroom doorway for a very long time, until Maverick's sobs die out and he takes a deep breath, indicating that he's calmed down for now. Benny draws away a little, locks eyes with Maverick (Maverick has trouble focusing, but he's drunk after all) and then very carefully touches Maverick's cheek, sliding his hand past Maverick's jaw and to the side of his neck. Maverick sighs and closes his eyes, and he knows there won't be a kiss, but Benny's touches are so gentle and careful that after the stranger they feel heavenly good.

Benny leans closer and presses a chaste kiss on Maverick's forehead, then draws away and pulls a face.

"A shower, yeah?" he says and Maverick nods compliantly. He lets Benny lead him to the bathroom (of course Benny knows Maverick's apartment like the back of his hand), even lets Benny undress him (he doesn't notice Benny checking him out for bruises or anything out of the ordinary) and push him gently into the shower. Benny pulls the curtains on and listens on as Maverick turns on the water.

"I'm gonna check up on you in a minute, alright?" Benny says sternly.

"I know how to fucking shower, dumbass," Maverick replied and rolls his eyes although Benny can't see.

"I'm just gonna make sure you won't pass out. So don't you fucking dare. If you fall and hit your head I'm gonna fucking kill you," Benny says before leaving the bathroom. Maverick doesn't hear the door close, so he assumes Benny left it open to really make sure he hears if Maverick's inebriation finally takes the best of him.

Maverick actually wouldn't be surprised if it did: the warm water feels divine against his tired skin and makes him definitely drowsy. He cringes a little and curses quietly when he reaches down to wash between his legs. He's pretty sure the stranger didn't tear his ass open but there's definitely some chafing and it's probably going to hurt for a while.

Benny's back in a minute, asking if Maverick's okay and Maverick replies with a snarky: "No I fell and hit my head and I'm concussed and bleeding out, call Life Alert."

"Not funny," Benny barks. "I'm fucking worried about you!"

"And I can handle a fucking shower, chill!" Maverick replies and turns the water off. Benny's there to hand him a clean, fluffy towel as Maverick pulls away the curtains and steps out, ending up once again under Benny's scrutiny. Maverick rolls his eyes dramatically. "Seriously, you've seen me in worse shape, just fucking _chill_ ," he slurs, messing up his words to make for a very convincing 'sure I'm all sober already' act.

Benny – who's not wearing the woolen coat anymore, just his strangely cute grayish green pajamas – rolls his eyes in reply and steps away from the doorway, letting Maverick dry himself up without looking over like a creep. Benny's there with clean underwear, the large Cannibal Corpse T-shirt Maverick likes to sleep in and a glass of cold water when Maverick steps out of the bathroom. When Maverick gets back to his bedroom he sees Benny's been busy. The lamp is back on the bedside table and the light's back on and the sheets are changed and Benny's even moved some of Maverick's dirty clothes from the floor to the armchair Maverick usually gathers them on before taking them to the laundry.

He stands in the doorway, the large T-shirt hanging off one shoulder and he feels like crying again. Why does the only person who cares so much about his well-being can't be his? He wipes at his eyes, angry at himself for getting so emotional again, and gives Benny a look he hopes comes off as thankful.

"You didn't need to do any of that," he says quietly.

Benny is standing next to Maverick's bed and cracks him half a smile. "Like hell I'm gonna sleep in sheets some other guy fucked you in," he says, and there's a really dangerous note there Maverick notices even through the drunkenness (the shower did help to sober him up a little).

"What about the lamp?" Maverick asks and points at the bedside table.

"I just changed the bulb," Benny says.

Maverick isn't sure if he even knows how to change a bulb, so he's thankful for Benny for that. He might have just ended up buying a new lamp altogether. "I didn't even know I had spare bulbs..." he mutters.

"Top left cabinet in the kitchen, I used to buy them," Benny replies easily enough with a shrug.

"I... had no idea," Maverick says, feeling a bit stunned. Maybe that's exactly why Benny bought them. He walks to the bed and slumps down face first, gathering his pillows under his head and he is _so glad_ the sheets just smell like his dusty closet and distantly like the cheap detergent he uses: very familiar, in other words. There's no trace of the stranger (except the quite literal pain in his ass). Benny rounds the bed and sits down on it (choosing the side he always used to sleep in). There are two comforters in the bed so they don't have to share (or fight for one).

Maverick watches Benny, glad he can now focus properly since his other eye is against the pillow, and sees the strange tightness on his face. "You're angry," he observes. "I'm sorry. You didn't have to stay."

Benny scoffs and looks at Maverick, offended. "It's not you," he says and then keeps a short pause, choosing his next words carefully. "He really didn't hurt you, did he? I mean, you can tell me. I might kill the guy, though."

Maverick chuckles quietly, half-amused, and shakes his head. "I let him go in dry but that was me being a fucking idiot, I _wanted_ it to hurt," he says quietly, feeling awkward admitting that to Benny.

"Why the fuck?" Benny groans.

"I dunno," Maverick replies, looking away. "Because I want to forget? Because I'm real fucking drunk? Because I deserve it?"

That's clearly something Benny doesn't like to hear and he's across the bed and next to Maverick in an instant, pulling him into a comforting hug. "You might be the stupidest idiot on the planet but you don't _ever_ deserve to be hurt by anyone," he says. "And there's no fucking reason for you to forget, why the fuck would you?"

"Because I'm never gonna be as fucking happy as I was with you," Maverick replies in an almost angry bark against Benny's chest. "If I don't forget I'm just gonna keep comparing everything to _you_ and that ain't no recipe for any kinda healthy relationship. Neither is fucking clinging to the memory of _us_ all the time."

Benny stays quiet at that, softly petting Maverick's hair. Maverick closes his eyes, finding Benny's embrace the most peaceful thing he's experienced in a long, _long_ while.

"We'll talk about that in the morning, alright?" Benny says after a while.

"Yeah, I'd rather dodge the fucking topic as well," Maverick quips.

Benny kisses his forehead again. "No, we _are_ talking. I don't wanna say things you might not remember in the morning."

Maverick gasps in mock offense. "And yet you _just_ let me talk, fucking shrewd bastard."

"Shush, now," Benny says, but continues after a while. "You… are going to remember why I am here in the morning, right?"

"Yeah," Maverick says. "Pretty sure. I'm in that blissful state of drunkenness I forget the details but remember the big picture. I'm pretty sure I won't believe it though."

"Good," Benny says, tightens his hold around Maverick and without any intention of letting go, clearly sets out to sleep.

Maverick revels in the embrace for as long as he can before blackout comes. It feels so good to be held by Benny, his body familiar and like meant to be against his, his smell memorable and comforting, and all dark thoughts are purged from Maverick's mind before he falls asleep. He has no idea Benny stays awake for hours, watching over Maverick's sleep and thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image courtesy of Erlie http://erlie.tumblr.com


	2. 02

Maverick wakes up to something immaterial banging against his head with a sledgehammer, his guts in a knot and like a ball of death-tasting cotton in his mouth. Thankfully it's still very early morning judging by the amount of light and his bedroom is nicely dim because of the balcony's curtains (and the window gives to north either way) so that's one less worry for him. He still needs to gather enough strength and will of mind to make it all the way to the kitchen to get a painkiller and something to drink, but as he looks around (he remembers Benny being there very well and finds him asleep on his own side of the bed and that makes Maverick's heart swell to insane proportions of hope) he finds a tall glass of water and a packet of Aspirin on the bedside table. Goddamned stupid Benny, so thoughtful and considerate.

He sits up in the bed and takes an Aspirin, looking at Benny all the time, his heart close to bursting. Why is Benny in his apartment making sure Maverick's alright and comfortable after a horrifying night of too much drinking and bad sex with a stranger that had  _nothing_ to do with Benny (in essence, anyhow, although Benny – or rather Maverick's still-lingering feelings for him – might have been, or, well,  _were,_ the catalyst to it. But that has absolutely nothing to do with Benny himself, it's all just Maverick in his solitary grand stupidity)?

Why does Benny  _care so much?_

It makes Maverick's heart sing and dance and do a garish musical number, and god _damn_ he is in love with Benny. Benny's black hair is all mussed up from sleeping on it and his face is peaceful and a part of his collar bone is peeking out of his pajamas and Maverick remembers biting it and sucking on it so until leaving a mark so many times before.  _His_ .

Stupid Benny, why is he here making all these feelings too real again? It was relatively easy to just shove those feelings somewhere in the deepest reaches of his mind when he didn't have to deal with Benny except very rarely and only in the presence of other people Maverick could use as support proxies to handle the fact that just seeing Benny made his heart race and hurt because they were not  _'we'_ anymore. Of course it has lead into things like last night occasionally, but still: _relatively_ easy.  


Maverick lies back down in the bed and turns his back to Benny, almost hoping Benny would be gone when Maverick next wakes up: no 'talk', no hope, no entertaining any thoughts of making this everyday, like it used to be. And Maverick never knows what Benny thinks or feels: he rarely talks of his feelings, and Maverick doesn't know whether Benny's here now because of pity or concern, or maybe because Maverick is not the only one remaining stuck in used-to-bes (but that's the sort of train of thought Maverick derails right off the bat because he will just be disappointed when he's wrong). And would it do any good if they  _did_ get back together? It would just end up in fights and distrust and breaking up again and while Maverick loves Benny more than anything, he understands Benny might not be good for him in the long run, and to Benny Maverick might be even less so. They were never the healthiest couple, Maverick knows this.

Benny rolls over in his sleep and reaches out to Maverick, like from old habit, and spoons him, cuddling close. Benny's breath is so steady and slow against Maverick's neck it's clear that he's still completely asleep and doing it just from some old memory. Maverick closes his eyes, settles comfortably against Benny and tries not to think that this is a thing that is really happening.

After the Aspirin takes effect and the headache disappears and the churning in his stomach is gone, Maverick falls back asleep, only to wake up couple of hours later when the room is much more brighter, Benny's gone from the bed and after a brief disappointed  _'I knew it, too good to be true',_ he realizes there are smells and sounds of breakfast coming from the kitchen. The sizzling of bacon and eggs and their delicious salty smell: perfect hangover breakfast. Maverick sits up in the bed, feeling a bit weak still, and after stretching his arms he stands up on shaky legs (seriously can he even walk straight for the next few days?). He makes his way slowly to the kitchen and stops in the doorway to watch Benny cook breakfast in an old T-shirt and baggy jeans he's apparently found so far back from Maverick's closet they might as well be from Narnia.

Benny looks quickly at Maverick over his shoulder and grins in acknowledgment and Maverick has never wanted to go over and kiss Benny as much as he does now. He has to physically restrain himself from just walking up to Benny and sweeping him off his feet, and instead he plops down besides his tiny two-seat dinner table Benny has already cleared from dirty dishes and empty juice cartons and other clutter.

"You really didn't have to," Maverick says, leaning his head to his hand. The headache still lurks there. Why the hell does he always have to start drinking cocktails? They cause him killer headaches. It would be so much easier and painless to just stick to beer.

"I know," Benny says, fills a glass with water and hands it to Maverick. "But I want to. So shut the fuck up and let me make sure you're alright."

"Man, I can take care of myself," Maverick grumbles, but secretly appreciates all of it. He drinks all of the water, feeling a tiny bit fresher instantly. He wants to go brush his teeth but he's too tired to stand up right now. Maybe breakfast first: he'll tolerate the taste of an open grave in his mouth until then.

"I know," Benny grins at Maverick. They never fought about that towards the end, at least. "Just let me treat you this one time." He's so cheerful it makes Maverick happy just to see him in such a good mood.

"This one time?" Maverick asks, immediately sort of regretting it. Too early for flirting.

"We'll see," Benny says, a ready-made reply, and turns back to the bacon and eggs. Soon enough he lifts the frying pan off the stove, takes out plates and slides the slices of bacon and scrambled eggs on Maverick's plate. He pops some toast into the toaster, puts the pan back on stove to fry another serving for himself and in the meantime chops some salad, cucumber and tomato to accompany Maverick's breakfast, placing them neatly at the edge of Maverick's plate along with the toast before turning back to the stove.

Maverick just stares at his plate, stunned, and without any warning whatsoever aside from the growing feeling of absolute fondness inside his chest, bursts into tears.  _Again_ . And now there isn't even alcohol to blame for being so goddamned emotional, just the fact that he absolutely cannot handle this level of sweetness and caring from Benny, who's not even his boyfriend anymore and hasn't been one in a long time.

Benny of course is within a second by Maverick's side, kneeling next to his chair and looking even more concerned than Maverick faintly remembers him looking the previous night.

"Mav, what? Are you  _sure_ you're alright?" Benny asks, the comforting hand now on Maverick's thigh.

Maverick imagines Benny thinking he's got cancer or that he's dying from something or something horrible like that and he hurries to shake his head and wipe his eyes and try to hide all evidence of ever crying, which is of course pretty fucking difficult because he's  _like the fucking Niagara Falls_ , and apparently there's no way to stop the tears now.

"Why are you being so fucking nice to me, I can't deal with it at all," he sobs and finds his hand in Benny's. "That's inconsiderate as fuck, you know I already told you I fucking love you, you piece of shit, and here you are making me breakfast and everything. And don't you fucking dare say you're just 'being nice' for the fuck of it, or that you're doing it because I did some stupid, self-destructive shit last night and you feel some gallant bullshit obligation to make up for it, you _asshole._ "

Benny sort of huffs and stands up, awkwardly leaning down to wrap his arms around Maverick's shoulders to hug him. He speaks into Maverick's hair. "Maybe because I still love you too, you fucking idiot," he admits so easily it sounds almost like a reflex, "and I _want_ you to be happy and not sleep with strangers or  _anyone else_ and let them hurt you, you dick. So shut the fuck up and stop crying and eat your fucking breakfast because everything's alright."

That doesn't make it any easier to stop crying, and Maverick's sobs are coming now out as hiccups as he tries to keep them inside. He wipes at his eyes and thinks his patheticness is probably breaking realities right now.

He's pretty sure Benny understands, though: he's seen Maverick cry from happiness enough times to know by now that there's no stopping it, and it's nothing to worry about. Wearing a neutral face he brushes hair away from Maverick's forehead (his hair is pretty much everywhere and curly as fuck since he went to sleep without drying it properly first, and you'd think it'd be easy to keep a simple mohawk in order but oh boy, Maverick's hair is proving that wrong) and then presses a simple kiss on it. Then he turns back to the stove to flip over the bacon and eggs with a loud sizzle. Eventually he sits down in the table too with his own bacon and scrambled eggs and they eat breakfast together, Maverick still sobbing occasionally into his food. It's just a simple breakfast but it's good for his dehydrated hungover body and anything Benny makes him is always delicious as fuck, like he's the best fucking chef in the world.

Then a thought crosses his mind and he glances at the clock on the wall. It's almost noon and Maverick's next glance is towards Benny with his eyes a bit wide. "Shouldn't you be at work?" he asks.

Benny grins, forking a piece of bacon into his mouth. "There are perks to owning a company instead of working for it," he says almost smugly. "I just called my assistant to cancel everything I had scheduled for today. And it's Saturday, just one meeting basically, no big deal." He shrugs.

"Man, you should still set an example and shit," Maverick points out and points at Benny with his fork. "And not take spontaneous days off to tend to your dumbass ex who can, for the fucking record, take care of himself just fine."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want and if I want to take a day off to tend to a dumbass ex and spend time with him because I haven't done that in ages then that's exactly what I'll do," Benny says, still smug. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Maverick snaps. "You cook mean bacon."

"It takes absolutely no talent, you just slap it on the pan," Benny says and laughs and holy shit if that laugh doesn't do things to Maverick, echoing through him like some choir of angels. Maverick's glad the table separates them because that's the second time he just wants to reach out and kiss Benny on the mouth.

"I wouldn't know, if I slapped it on the pan and tried the same I'd end up with a strip of charred something," Maverick says.

"I know," Benny says softly and smiles at Maverick over the table.

There's a short silence, forks and knives clinking sharply against plates and the very faint sound of traffic out from the street. Maverick clears his throat and puts down his fork, having finished eating. The hangover is still there, but it's not the same all-consuming awfully disgusting and draining feeling as it was before. "So, uh, you're gonna spend time with me?"

"Yeah I thought we could," Benny says and awkwardly looks away, looking a bit like he hasn't yet thought it completely through. "I mean we don't have to go anywhere since you probably don't feel too good or anything, but we could watch a movie, play something, talk, I'll get us dinner, stuff we… used to do, you know. If it's okay with you."

"In what fucking universe wouldn't I be okay with that?" Maverick replies, feeling a bit flustered. "So you'll be like my slave for the day?"

"Well if that's the way you wanna put it, I guess, yeah," Benny says with a tiny chuckle.

"Cool," Maverick says. "I remember we used to do it the other way around." Ah shit, no flirting. No allusions to sex whatsoever. He's just gonna end up wanting it and that's probably out of the question because if they're doing this; getting back together or whatever the hell is going on (where's the 'talk' by the way?), Maverick definitely does not want it to be just about sex. He doesn't want it to be about sex at all and besides his chafed ass is definitely out of order for an indeterminate time (it's sort of uncomfortable to even sit down) and he's not sure if he's yet comfortable with even the thought of sex after the whole thing with the stranger. Goddamn it left a really foul taste in his mouth in retrospect.

Benny smiles half a smile at that and then licks his lips a bit. He seems to consider his next words carefully and here's probably the 'talk' now. "I don't," he starts, then frowns and tries again, "I'm not sure about this."

"I'm not sure about this either," Maverick replies instantly, turning serious as well. There is what feels like his undying love for Benny and then there are the doubts; if they'll just repeat all the same mistakes as before and end up hurt and heartbroken. The confessions of love were there already so they both know they still feel the same (although Maverick has the familiar evil voices at the back of his head whispering distrust and unworthiness into his ear), but the next step is going to be to decide if the doubts are worth it all. He's also not sure if it's really just a pity thing on Benny's part: maybe he really _does_ feel some dumbass obligation to make Maverick feel better, including getting back together with him. And the prospect of that doesn't sit well with Maverick at all.

Maverick looks at Benny, openly now since Benny's looking away from him while he thinks, and he knows Benny is worth everything. Benny will always be worth a broken heart, always. They will always fight over stupid shit, but that they already learned to deal with back when they were together, and they have never ever hurt each other with anything more than words that the both of them knew were untrue and only spoken in anger. Maverick fully expects that to continue, and those fights were never the last straw; never made them break up. The question is, rather, if they have changed or grown up enough this time to avoid the mistakes that eventually did.

Benny stands up from the table, hands in fists against his sides and his mouth a thin line of contemplation. "I want to try," he says. "I have absolutely nothing to lose except you."

Maverick's heart beats a wild rhythm against his ribcage and now he laughs instead of bursting into tears. "Yeah at least it's unlikely I'll make you lose your company and shit," he jokes easily to placate his nerves. "Unless you start spending all your days tending to your ex, then there might be time for intervention."

"It's not an ex though," Benny says softly and steps past the table closer to Maverick, taking his hand and pulling him up on his feet and Maverick's guts throw a cartwheel. Benny puts Maverick's hand on his waist and then his own on Maverick's and they stand there their bodies an inch apart and now it's suddenly become so silent Maverick hears the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"You don't wanna kiss me, I taste like bacon and death," Maverick says weakly as Benny aims the first kiss to his jaw, slow and soft.

"I don't give a fuck," Benny replies and kisses Maverick's cheek before drawing away a little, catching Maverick's eyes for a split second that's perfectly enough time for Maverick's world to burst into some form of unadulterated happiness, and then presses his lips against Maverick's, kissing him properly.

Maverick sighs into the kiss, melts into it, moves his hand from Benny's waist to wrap his arms around Benny's shoulders and drapes himself against Benny and yeah there are tears in his eyes again but who the fuck cares at this point. And that is no pity kiss and  _that_ makes Maverick feel unbelievably better and more certain about the whole thing. Benny draws away briefly, tilts Maverick's head to another angle and kisses him again, deeper this time, and Maverick thinks faintly it's admirable how Benny really does not care about the certainly deathly hangover breath. Benny slides his arms past Maverick's waist and presses them against the small of his back, then runs them up his spine under his shirt, studying the ridges and shapes and it's like he's reacquainting himself with Maverick's body. Maverick feels the same, his hands already in Benny's coarse hair and grabbing handfuls of it. Benny moves a little, turning Maverick a little so that the back of his thighs are against the table, and the plates clink as the table shakes a bit when Benny pushes tighter against Maverick.

"I've missed you," Benny mouths quietly against Maverick's lips, pressing quick little kisses against them between words. "You have no idea."

"Yeah I do," Maverick replies, because the same stands for him too and he's absolutely overwhelmed and slightly unbelieving of everything that's happening. Benny's hands rest on the small of Maverick's back again and then dip lower, feeling the upper curve of his ass and Maverick lets out a sigh, moving a bit against Benny's hands and yeah that's probably a good place to put an end to this particular happy reunion since he's already getting hard, and the baggy jeans Benny's wearing aren't really leaving much for imagination either when he's pushed so tightly against Maverick.

Maverick puts his hands against Benny's chest and tilts his head back, away from Benny's kisses. He doesn't move away, though: no reason to turn Benny down completely, just calm him down a little. "I don't think this is actually the best way to start this shit again," he says quietly and catches Benny's eyes for a second (they are already a bit clouded with his pupils blown wide: Maverick wonders briefly if Benny's even had anyone since they broke up). "I mean my ass seriously hurts and I… don't wanna make it all about  _this_ , y'know?" he says and waves his hand between them, trying to indicate some sort of physical connection.

It takes a second for Benny to come back to reality and he nods then, offering Maverick an apologetic smile that's completely unneeded. "You're right," he says. "Sorry it got out of hand so fast."

"Hey man, no need to apologize, didn't you always used to say I'm hot shit?" he grins easily at Benny.

Benny chuckles and leans closer to press a kiss on Maverick's forehead and then after a second of contemplation another quick one on his lips. "That's exactly what you are. So, a movie or something?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go see what Netflix has to offer," Maverick says and pushes off the table. Benny makes him way, grabs his hand ( _that_ Maverick has missed  _so much)_ and follows him into Maverick's bedroom where Maverick has his PC and TV all set up.


	3. 03

It's a perfect day spent with Benny in Maverick's tiny apartment. They watch some shitty zombie movie on the couch while Maverick lies on top of Benny and he's  _so comfortable_ , feeling the steady heave of Benny's chest against him and Benny's steady breath in his hair. Benny's arm is wrapped loosely around his waist. He wouldn't even be lying a lot if he claimed that he could spend the rest of his life there and be happy. They could change the movie, though: an entire lifetime of one crappy zombie flick would eventually put a definite dent in his happiness.

Occasionally Benny brushes his hand gently through Maverick's hair and kisses the top of his head like it's a reflex and it reminds Maverick of the times when they just started dating for the first time and even situations like these were exciting and new.

Now they are again: like they're not exactly sure about the boundaries yet.

Maverick's hangover is nearly completely gone after two movies, thanks to the breakfast and all the water Benny made him drink, and he's getting hungry for some actual food.

"Wanna go out or just order something to go?" Benny asks, flipping out his phone.

Maverick shrugs. "Whatever you want," he says. "I can go out as long as it's nothing fancy, but staying inside is cool too. There are only so many shitty movies I have the attention span to watch in succession though."

Benny chuckles and puts away his phone, extending his hand to Maverick and beckoning him closer.

Maverick raises an eyebrow. "You really wanna go out in those?" he asks, referring to Benny's baggy jeans and old T-shirt, courtesy of the deepest forgotten reaches of Maverick's closet.

"I don't give a fuck if it's the Thai place downstairs, I think they've both seen us wearing stranger shit," Benny says and shrugs.

"Man, I was  _just_ thinking about the Thai place downstairs, I could even go without pants and they'd just be like 'sup, same as always?'," Maverick says. He's still wearing the clothes he wore to bed: the extra large Cannibal Corpse T-shirt and boxers.

Benny laughs. "I bet they would but please wear pants," he says.

"Fine," Maverick says and meanders to his closet to get out a pair of clean jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. There are never enough chances to show off his tattoo sleeve now that it's complete, so he's taken to wearing sleeveless shirts a lot (except to work: there he tends to wear long-sleeved shirts, because some of the stuff on his tattoos likely needs the parental guidance rating). He then looks back at Benny over his shoulder and catches him stretching his arms up, his shirt riding high enough to reveal his abdomen and  _man_ , Maverick  _really_ likes it how the jeans hug Benny's slim hips and reveal the just barely noticeable jut of his hipbones. Not even fucking mentioning that faint, dark treasure trail. Benny's not built like Maverick who's just skin and bones with everything just sort of sticking out awkwardly; Benny has some faint muscle definition and his features are softer, not as angular and sharp as Maverick's. 

Suddenly Maverick sort of wants to stay inside and just do it, his hurting ass and not wanting to start their second chance at a relationship with some good old-fashioned fucking be damned. On the other hand, while the idea is exciting, there's something that sours it and leaves a sort of an anxious feeling behind.

Maverick gets dressed and turns back to Benny with a dramatic sigh.

Benny just raises his eyebrow at Maverick's sigh, but actually doesn't inquire what it's about, and after Maverick finds his jacket again (it's been in a million different places between yesterday and today) and Benny dons the heavy woolen executive-fitting coat (it looks absolutely ridiculous with the baggy jeans), they head downstairs to the Thai place for some dinner.

That's most of their day. After they return from the Thai place Benny sits on Maverick's computer checking news sites and reading some boring blogs and Maverick plays some Grand Theft Auto on Xbox. They make coffee (or Maverick makes Benny coffee and gets hot chocolate for himself), watch another movie (something a bit more universally acclaimed this time) in the exact same position on the couch and Maverick notices Benny's boner poking at his abdomen halfway through the movie.

He raises his head and peers a little quizzically at Benny, who looks a tad embarrassed.

"So is it me or Brad Pitt?" Maverick asks.

"Please," Benny replies with an accompanying roll of his eyes, like the answer should be obvious.

"Have you been with anyone since we broke up?" Maverick just blurts out the question that passed his mind earlier that day.

Now Benny looks away, his expression a bit ashamed. "Well, I don't drag strangers into my home from clubs," he says, a sharp sting on his tongue.

"Don't you fucking dare judge me for that, I told you I don't do that. Except last night," Maverick barks out, feeling a bit offended. He's been with three different guys, but none of those he brought home drunk from clubs. None of those were anything more than one night stands though. "It's been like months, there's been plenty of time for a  _relationship_ , I ain't talking about just some one night stands or whatever."

Benny meets Maverick's eyes in a challenge, and it's funny that Benny's the one who's sort of scared of Maverick judging  _him_ now. "You were my last if that's what you fucking wanna know," he says sharply. "And yeah of course it's you, of course you turn me on and  _of course_ I want to fuck you."

Maverick flushes bright red just from the sheer bluntness of Benny's words. He's rarely that blunt, except when they're actually doing it (because then it's hot), and it makes a pleasant tremble run through Maverick's body.

"Well sorry but you can't do that," Maverick says and slides his hand between their bodies and into Benny's thankfully very loose jeans, feeling the shape of Benny's cock through his underwear. Benny's head lolls back and he lets out a sharp hiss. "My ass is like a condemned area for a couple of days at least," Maverick continues, sliding his hand deep between Benny's legs and then back up again, along his cock. "But it ain't like we can't do something like this."

"Didn't you say you don't wanna start this thing with sex?" Benny asks, sounding a bit choked.

"Yeah, but I don't wanna lie here with your dick poking at my belly the whole evening either," Maverick replies smugly and moves Benny's underwear out of the way. "But just say the word and I'll stop."

"If you fucking dare I'll kill you," Benny says, far from serious, and his back arches against Maverick as Maverick carefully wraps his hand around Benny's cock, giving it an experimental little jerk.

So familiar, he thinks, the size fitting perfectly in his hand and all Benny's reactions are like scripted, coming at a familiar cue. Maverick rolls off Benny a bit, so that he's between Benny and the backrest and he has a lot more room to do this properly. Not that there's going to be much time for that: from the way Benny's breath is already hitching and his abdomen trembling, he's pretty damn close already. Not really surprising if all he's had for a couple of months is his own hand.

"Kiss me, please," Maverick asks and slides his hand behind Benny's neck while he slowly jerks Benny off with his other.

Benny obliges immediately, although his aim is a bit off at first, but Maverick gets his kiss and gets to feel Benny moan and gasp curses against his mouth as he comes into Maverick's hand.

Maverick presses a quick kiss on Benny's lips, wipes his hand on Benny's shirt (which is his shirt, so he doesn't really give a shit), tugs Benny's underwear back up and pats Benny gently on the chest. "Congrats, must be a record," he says cheerfully.

"Fuck you," Benny says with an exhausted chuckle and wraps his arm around Maverick's shoulders, tucking him closer. "You need me to return the favor?"

"Nah, I'm cool," Maverick says, his eyes back on the movie. He can feel the arousal but his dick's not really awake for the action and he doesn't feel like he actually even wants to come. It makes him feel sort of apprehensive and anxious and what he remembers of the last night is way too fresh on his mind. "That was super hot but didn't really get me going, y'know."

Benny gives Maverick a sort of worried look and hugs him closer. "We'll do it later then," he says firmly and kisses Maverick's forehead. "But thanks. For taking care of that," he adds after a while.

"Anytime, dumbass," Maverick says and grins easily up at Benny to wipe the worried look off Benny's face. "With boyfriend status come exclusive handjob rights and shit."


	4. 04

The next morning Maverick wakes up with Benny pressed tight against his backside, spooning him just like the old times. _Best morning ever_ , Maverick thinks, takes Benny's hand – the one that's thrown over Maverick's waist – in his and laces their fingers together, because holding hands is absolutely the most intimate thing in Maverick's books. It's a small gesture but to him it always means worlds, because it means the other person is willing to do that gesture for him.

Benny nuzzles closer, already awake, and speaks low and sleepy-raw against Maverick's neck: "No more days off, I'm gonna have to be somewhere in an hour," he says.

Maverick instantly feels disappointed. They didn't do a lot yesterday, just ate and cuddled and watched dumb movies, but it was the best day he's had in months. You know you're with the right person when you can share anything, even slow days with nothing to do, or especially so, with them.

"Okay," Maverick replies. He feels Benny's mouth on his neck, soft kisses, and Benny bends the arm that's under Maverick's head to sink his fingers into Maverick's hair.

It feels absolutely divine to wake up in Benny's arms, Maverick thinks, but eventually he heaves a sigh and lets go of Benny's hand. "I'm gonna make you coffee so you don't have to visit some Starbucks shit on your way to work," he mumbles, but Benny doesn't let him go. His arm is instantly tight around Maverick's waist, and his breath is hot against Maverick's ear.

"I'm gonna return the favor  _now_ ," he says and holy shit what Benny's voice  _does_ to Maverick when it's so low and full of  _intent_ so close to his ear he can feel Benny's warm breath against his skin. It makes a strong surge of pleasure run through him, but there's no physical reaction, not until Benny very slowly moves his hand lower along Maverick's abdomen, feeling the smooth scar tissue under all the ink, as gentle and loving as he always is when Maverick doesn't specifically ask for roughness. Sweet and gentle is the default, and Maverick thinks he'll like that default now. 

Benny's hand eventually runs gently over Maverick's underwear-covered dick, and finding it still soft, he lets out a tad frustrated grunt against Maverick's neck. He runs his hand back up, rubbing at Maverick dick through the underwear, and kisses Maverick's neck.

"It's me," he murmurs close to Maverick's ear, his hand working ceaselessly. "It's okay. You want me, right?"

"Yeah," Maverick replies breathlessly. He's turned on, of course he fucking is, and squirming a little, and he feels Benny's erection against his backside which is one of the hottest things he even knows, although there's no promise of  _that_ this time.

Benny moves his other arm away from under Maverick's head and slides it under Maverick, immediately brushing it over Maverick's chest, while his other hand dips experimentally inside Maverick's boxers. That makes Maverick stifle a gasp and push back against Benny from old memory to feel his hard cock rub against his ass. All of that finally does the trick: Benny's hand loosely around his dick, his fingers teasing at his nipple and his arousal so clear against Maverick… it would be fucking impossible to stay soft through all of that. And it's so different from the stranger: it's all just for Maverick and Maverick knows Benny would never hurt him.

"Good boy," Benny breathes against Maverick's neck. "Now let me hear you."

Maverick remembers their first times when he was so mortifyingly embarrassed of all the sounds he made he strove to not make a sound, but that didn't last for very long with Benny begging to hear his moans and whimpers and gasps and even screams, so nowadays nothing really holds him back anymore. Benny's fingers play with the piercing at the tip of his dick before he firmly wraps his fingers around the base and pulls them up along Maverick dick, making him moan and strain hard against Benny's body.

"Fucking, yes," Maverick pants and pushes back until Benny's dick is between his asscheeks: he isn't going to take it in but at least Benny has something to grind against, and Benny does, while still working at Maverick's dick and playing with his nipples and the piercings.

"How are you so fucking perfect?" Benny murmurs and bites gently Maverick's shoulder, making Maverick gasp and stifle a laugh. Benny leaves Maverick's nipples alone and now it's him who finds Maverick's hand, lacing their fingers tight together and that makes Maverick  _so insanely happy_ above everything else he feels like he could burst. They're completely entangled together and Benny holds Maverick's hand tight, which is the  _most intimate thing_ and Maverick feels like crying from how good he's suddenly feeling from the maddening ache between his legs and the lust and desire and the unadulterated  _love._

Maverick holds Benny's hand back just as tight and rocks his hips back. Benny's reply is a low grunt and he tightens his hold of Maverick's dick, just a little bit, and jerks harder, and with that Maverick spends himself with a moan that will hopefully ring in Benny's ears the whole day. Benny presses a kiss on Maverick's neck before taking a firm hold of his hip and thrusting his cock up between Maverick's asscheeks until he comes as well, making some broken sound against Maverick's neck.

They lie there, entangled and catching their breath for a moment. _Just_ like old times. Maverick rolls around to face Benny and they kiss each other like there's no tomorrow in the high of the afterglow. Kissing Benny is the best thing: he gives these quick open-mouthed kisses first before sliding his tongue in and deepening the kiss considerably and then he slows up a bit, maybe bites Maverick's lip softly without any intent to hurt, and it's all just desire and need and love, over and over again.

"You need to go," Maverick says tiredly after a while. "You need to get clothes from your place, you can't go lead your fucking company in my ratty-ass jeans. Take a shower too or you'll smell like you've been fucking the whole morning. I'll get you a coffee to go." He sits up in the bed and notices he's still holding hands with Benny. He smiles at that wide and bright and emotionally overwhelmed and Benny catches that, immediately sitting up and with a bit of a choked laugh he drapes his arms around Maverick's shoulders and hugs him tight.

"Fucking hell I've missed that once-in-a-fucking-lifetime smile," Benny says, actually sounding a bit like he's on the brink of tears.

"Get into shower you sappy old dumbass," Maverick replies, turns his head to give Benny a kiss and then pulls himself free of Benny's considerable powers of body entanglement. Benny remains smiling goofily in the bed while Maverick saunters sleep-and-recent-sex-addled into the kitchen to get Benny a coffee. He hears after a moment Benny move in the hallway and the bathroom door close.

After that he can safely sit in the kitchen table and bury his flustered face in his hands because he's feeling so ridiculously and stupidly happy he could burst.


	5. 05

The bell rings recess and Maverick is gathering his papers into a somewhat neater pile on his desk when from the corner of his eye he sees a black-haired girl in pigtails and a light pink dress bounce across the classroom towards his desk. He raises his head to meet Marigold Edison-Khouri's bright green eyes and gives her a somewhat tired, questioning look, while the girl basically _beams_ at him, holding a folded piece of paper in both hands.

Marigold is without a doubt the most insufferable student Maverick has, but not because of her antics in the classroom (she's basically an angel there: mostly quiet and studious, but socially active and smart if a bit precocious), but because she's Cotton and Jerry's adopted daughter and therefore part of the 'extended family' as Ramona's taken to calling their circle of friends. And that is why Mari always knows what's going on because she's curious and asks questions that are difficult to dodge and her fathers are pieces of shit who cannot deny her anything (it's a wonder she isn't spoiled to hell and back already).

"Yeah?" Maverick asks Mari warily, since he has no idea what to expect.

"I made you a card!" Mari blurts out excitedly and hands Maverick the folded piece of construction paper. She grips the edge of Maverick's desk with both hands then and waits for Maverick's reaction.

Maverick sighs (he would never sigh at a student like that, but Mari's family) and folds open the paper and fucking hell, how in the name of fuck do they know already?! The card is a masterpiece rendered with colored pencils that depicts two people: one with a red mohawk, a lot of tattoos and colorful clothing and the other black-haired and wearing a dark suit, and there's a carefully scribbled "Congratulations!" on top in rainbow colors. So that's what she had been doing during the previous class and ignoring all the English grammar she already knows.

Maverick gives Mari his best 'are you fucking kidding me?' look over the card and Mari's just smiling toothily at him.

"Papa told me he heard your mom talk about it and I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS YOU ARE SO  _CUTE_ TOGETHER!" Mari gushes, bouncing on the balls of her feet from excitement.

Maverick isn't sure if Mari is just really good at eavesdropping or if the Edison-Khouri household actually discusses his and Benny's relationship all openly when their six-year-old daughter is listening. To be honest he wouldn't be surprised at all if it was the latter: it's not like Benny and Maverick's on-off relationship hasn't been the topic of many a family gathering (whenever either Benny OR Maverick isn't attending: none of the others have the guts to talk about them to their faces, mostly because it makes Benny throw a fit and Maverick leave the house and go sit on the roof to chain-smoke until Ramona entices him down with a promise of food and no awkward questions). Jerry and Cotton also don't hide things like that from Mari: their entire circle of friends consists of people with sexualities other than straight and in Edison-Khouri household it is very clear that there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's to the point that half of Maverick's class considers opposite-sex parents weird only because Mari is very popular with her classmates with her cheery disposition and her stinging wit. Maverick is frankly scared of what Mari will grow up to become.

It's not his business to interfere with however Jerry and Cotton decide to raise their daughter, but at least he has some authority in his classroom, and he quickly kills off Mari's more enthusiastic speeches before she gets too excited. He still makes sure that none of his students entertain any notions about same-sex parents being different or a reason to bully someone. He has zero tolerance about that even though there has been a couple of times he's been contacted by a shocked homophobic parent about the things he's teaching their precious little angels who are about to grow up similarly homophobic and closed-minded unless Maverick does his fucking best trying to teach them otherwise with the authority of an actual fucking school teacher. He makes sure they know he isn't fucking  _promoting_ anything, he is just telling the kids that being different is not something that should make anyone any worse or less of a person than someone else. Some of them won't listen to any kind of reason and tell him he's a flaming faggot and probably also a pedophile who shouldn't teach small children. Fuck the lot of them. Thankfully Maverick's boss, the school's principal, is a level-headed liberal woman who just ignores the outbursts of Maverick's student's parents when they contact her about it, and so far Maverick has been able to keep his job.

Mari is still doing most of the promoting, though, but only because she's a girl who loves her parents very much and to her there's nothing strange about them being two men instead of a man and a woman.

"Thanks," Maverick sighs at Mari and folds the card, placing it on the desk.

In reply Mari leans her elbows to Maverick's desk and tilts her head cutely. "So when are you gonna come over?" she asks.

"I really dunno, you need to go to recess," Maverick says and waves his thumb towards the door. It'll look like he's keeping favorites if he lets Mari stick around during recess.

"Please come soon, it'd be so cool," Mari says, pursing her lips in the way only a six-year-old can when she wants something.

"We'll see, get out," Maverick replies.

Mari pushes herself off the desk and takes a loitering, slow step towards the door, still turned to Maverick. "It'd be so nice to see Benny when he's not all angry and pouty," she says and frowns a little.

"He's always angry and pouty, goddammit Mari get out already please," Maverick pleads.

"No but he was over like, I dunno, couple of weeks ago. What a sourpuss!" she says, rolling her eyes melodramatically (if it was at all appropriate Maverick would have laughed at that, but instead he just fights to wear a serious face). "He was always so much happier when he was with you, so now he's gonna be fun again!"

"Really now?" Maverick says, his interest a tiny bit piqued.

Mari gets a cunning look and Maverick realizes too late he's being played like a pro by a six-year-old.  _Jerry_ 's six-year-old, but  _still_ . "Yeah," Mari confirms and leans back against the desk. "I'm sooooo happy you're back together. You're my favorite uncle after all," she coos.

"While we're here I'm your goddamned teacher and it's really time for you to get your butt out to recess," Maverick says, trying to use his teacher authority, which usually fails on Mari since she knows him outside of school.

"You shouldn't say 'goddamn'," Mari points out and finally starts heading towards the door.

"Neither should you," Maverick points out right back at her. He usually controls his tongue very well during class (because he'd be in a thousand different kinds of trouble if he let even a single F bomb slip during class), but Mari's heard him curse like a sailor so it's probably a bit too late to treat her with silk gloves in that regard. "Now get out or I'm gonna give you detention."

"So you'd get to spend an entire half an hour with me! Fun!" Mari says in her infuriatingly precocious manner, but at least she's finally out of the door.

Maverick sighs and rests his head against the desk for a second. Maverick rarely likes kids as singular units, but he actually likes Mari in secret. She sort of reminds him of himself before all the shit went down, and his dislike of her precociousness and shrewdness is just an act and he actually likes a kid who can think on her own and  _stand_ on her own. Jerry and Cotton are doing a damn good job with her.

He hears the door open and then Mari's irritating singsong voice: "And I saw the hickey on your neck so that's how I knew too!" she says and then disappears before Maverick has the time to curse after her.

He does so under his breath and pulls a scarf out of his bag.


End file.
